


And Don’t You Dare Let Go

by DeCappuccino



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Despair, F/F, Homura just trying her best, Hope, No Beta, One-Shot, Romance, Zombie AU, a little bit, bc i cant help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25635616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCappuccino/pseuds/DeCappuccino
Summary: “Never lose hope, Homura-chan.” Madoka told her once. Her chipper tone unusually dulled to a tired murmur. “It’s all we have now.”No Magic, Zombie Apocalypse AU.
Relationships: Akemi Homura & Tomoe Mami, Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka, Momoe Nagisa & Tomoe Mami
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	And Don’t You Dare Let Go

She’s screaming.

Her voice is echoing, loud and booming, painfully aching. It bounces off street lamps and empty buildings. Her throat burns, begging her to stop. She’s sorely unaccustomed to her sudden change in dynamic.

**_ Tap tap tap... _ **

Her feet take off in the opposite direction, running further and further astray. She hears Madoka shriek her name. Kyoko’s holler and Sayaka’s defiant yell falling away behind her.

She rounds the corner as quick as her feet can take her, blood pounding and sweat clinging to her clothes.

‘ _Lure them... I have to lure them away—!_ ’

She bangs a parked car with the crowbar she’s carrying, leaving a nasty dent. Its blaring alarm sends them rabid. She hits another, and another, and another. Breaking tail lights and windshields. She’s lucky this particular neighborhood is lined up with vehicles.

When she turns around, she’s both delighted and horrified to see the horde is following her now— most of them, anyways. 

It doesn’t take long before she grows tired. The sounds of her fighting friends long since dwindled behind her, replaced by her own ragged breathing. Spotting a fence, she scrambles to hop over it. 

In her haste, her blazer is caught on a jagged piece of stray metal. She feels a sharp pain shoot up her leg as she rips it free, landing awkwardly. Cursing, she ducks behind an abandoned bin in a secluded park, taking a minute to peer around, watching them groan and scratch at the booming cars loitering the streets. 

Homura examines her leg, hiding a shrill yelp of pain behind her palm when she presses her hand on it. Twisted ankle, she hisses. She blinks away her tears, opting to leave it be and catch her breath. She’s lucky the park is deserted. The roaring alarms diverting most of their attention. 

It’s not until the sun begins to set does she leave her spot. There are few stragglers, but the horde seems to have moved on. 

Homura chokes back a yelp as she accidentally puts pressure on her injured ankle.

_ “Never lose hope, Homura-chan.”  Madoka told her once. Her chipper tone unusually dulled to a tired murmur. “It’s all we have now.” _

She wonders if that’ll be her downfall.

She spends the night in an abandoned house after limping a mile away. Scrounging whatever still sits stale in the cupboards, and nursing her leg with gauze. She finds a measly can of peaches and a waterbottle. 

The dull, soft pink reminds her of Madoka. 

She hopes they made it out safe.

* * *

By daylight, she picks up the pace. Her group had a car. A beaten up, old stationwagon with half a tank of gas left. Kyoko managed to snag it from an old drunkard in the midst of turning. She’s sure they no doubt used it after the skirmish yesterday to make a quick getaway.

She decides to skirt around the town, keeping to the freeways. She notices they tend to congregate where denser populations used to be.

Eventually, she comes across a camp. The first on her to-do list is to ask a local for information. The woman running what seems to be the weapon stand tells her a group passed through here recently.

“What did they look like?” Homura asks tentatively.

“Oh, a small girl with pink hair.” The woman describes hastily, clicking together weapon parts, “Red-head and blue-haired girl too. They were all wearing high school uniforms.”

Against her better judgment, Homura feels anticipation swell. “How long ago?”

An impatient grunt. “Three or so days.”

She thanks her, and trades a few things she pillaged from abandon streets for medical supplies and the like. She ends up swiping a pair of socks with a kitten design on them for Madoka. 

It resembles Amy, in a way.

She stuffs it away before she has a chance to cry.

* * *

It’s 4:30 in the morning when she’s woken up. The sound of rapid footsteps, coupled with a ragged cry of help jolts her from an uneasy slumber.

Homura adjusts her glasses and peers out the window.

A girl, barely older than her, is running through the streets. She’s wearing the same school uniform, if not more dirtied and tattered. Her blonde curls bouncing in sync with her steps. She’s holding on tightly to a bloodied musket.

From her angle, she see’s a pack of them. Ever so ungainly as they shamble towards her. 

Enough for two people to easily deal with, if that were the case.

She finds her body moves without thinking. Madoka’s kind voice a soft reminder in her ears. She crawls through the sunroof of the dead car shes taking refuge in, and with a swift swing, the golf club connects with a forehead. 

A steady hand soon follows, driving the butt of a gun into the one sneaking up next to her. 

She later learns the girl’s name is Mami Tomoe, an upperclassman in the same school she used to attend. She confesses that she is also looking for someone.

At this, Homura offers an alliance, “Strength in numbers,” she reasons. The blonde practically sparkles, bowing in greeting, she accepts.

For the next few days, they travel on foot. Not fortunate enough to come across a working vehicle. 

Her ankle is getting better. But she isn’t able to run for very long without losing her breath. 

Homura has a vague direction to where her group was headed. A refugee camp up in the mountains. It was broadcasted all over the radio a day before the outbreak happened. She assumed it was a smart idea. The dead can’t walk very fast if they were frozen afterall. 

Within those few days, Homura learns how to craft pipe bombs after stumbling into a library looking for shelter. She spends the night there. The perimeter should hold— the fences look sturdy and strong. After a brief check of the area, she settles down with her new companion.

Mami is good company, she finds. Polite and respectful, yet reliable and kind. Homura is thankful for her unexpected fellowship. She feels she would have fallen into a dangerous fit of despair if not for her presence. 

The night goes by without a hitch, and they leave the next morning. After a brief thought, she snags a few comic books for Sayaka. 

“ Hope .” She whispers to herself.

* * *

She didn’t think she’d have to use them after learning how to make them so soon. 

Mami is scrambling up the fire escape above her, feet clanging noisily against the rungs. Homura glances down, the faces of undead haunting her every move. She watches them reach for her, mouths agape, eyes sunk so far back into their skull only soulless pitch black remains.

“Tomoe-san!” She calls up to her companion. Her voice is no longer hushed. “Do you see a way out?”

Mami is frantically looking around the roof. The closest building being at least fifty feet away. “No! Not that I can see from here!”

Homura curses. The roof won’t hold them for much longer, neither will the ladder. She’s glad they aren’t smart enough to climb, but strength in numbers is a dangerous thing. 

Homura clenches her jaw. “Okay, Tomoe-san.” She pulls out a bomb. She only had enough gunpowder for three, so she had to make them count. “I’m going to throw this one down. As soon as it explodes, we’ll make a break for it.”

Genuine fear flashes across her features, she looks about ready to argue, lips parting to decline. The fire escape shudders and shakes under their grip, and Mami steels herself. “Okay.” She holds her musket tightly, and with a deep breath, “Okay... lead the way, Akemi-san.”

She nods, inhaling sharply before she tosses one. Theres a brief second of silence, before an explosion sounds. It echoes through the sky, reverberating through her ears painfully. 

She misjudged the distance needed to safely avoid being caught in the blast. In her haze, she manages to slide down the ladder. The ringing in her ears stunting her as she wildly looks around for an exit. 

Finding an opening, she takes Mami’s hand. A few precious seconds is all she needs to sprint through the charred bodies. She knows more are coming. The ringing in her ears are a painful reminder.

Theres a swarm of them, and Homura doesn’t hesitate to throw another bomb as she sprints down the streets.

* * *

”Akemi-san?”

Homura turns around. They’re walking through a small town, passed a camp of refugees. Having made it successfully through the main infested city. Unfortunately, they have nothing of value to trade, aside from a few meager rations. Food was becoming harder and harder to come by.

Mami points towards a set of bikes chained against the side of a building. She eyes them. The wheel’s are in tact, if not a tad bit rusted. Unfortunately, the other bikes seemed unsalvageable.

“Well that’s convenient.” She mutters. The only inconvenience being it chained to the bike rack with a sturdy lock. She looks around. There are a couple of them shuffling closeby, but none that could seriously do damage did they gang up on them. 

She nods towards Mami, “Could you cover me? I’m going to try and get them free. We’ll need to be quick, though.”

Mami looks determined. “Of course, Akemi-san! Leave this to your senpai.”

Homura blinks at her, offering a nod, before she brings her crowbar down on the chain. It echoes harshly in the alleyway. She’s lucky the chains were damaged, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to break them free if they weren’t.

_** Clang! Clang! Clang! ** _

Finally the shackles snap, just in time to for Homura to wave Mami over. They barely escape the unseen ghouls lumbering from the shadows by the skin of their teeth.

* * *

A couple uneventful hours pass by, and they discover a pharmacy by the end of the road. Broken into, but enough decent supplies were left to loot.

Carefully, they park their bikes by the entrance. Left standing for a quick exit, just in case.

“Let’s try to be quick.” Mami tells her. She’s holding the barrel of her musket like a bat. Long since run out of ammo, but far too sentimental to give it up. The light flickers behind her, dimming the view of the small shop. 

Homura nods, eyes scanning. “There doesn’t seem to be any in here from what I can see. Let’s grab whatever we can and get out.”

They split at the first aisle. As Homura wanders, her eyes are searching for usable items. Most, if not all the shelves were cleaned empty. She crouches, and spots a few boxes of medical equipment. Homura quickly stuffs them into her backpack, quietly wondering when _petroleum_ _jelly_ would ever be relevant.

Suddenly, theres a snap, and she’s roughly pushed to the floor. It’s an ugly thing, not-so recently turned. Its flesh rotted and maggots already burrowing in its skull. She tries to shove it off in a blind panic, but still, somehow she’s far weaker.

Her back is pressed against the floor, just barely out of reach of her makeshift weapon that slid too far away. It rasps, the stench of decaying flesh is pungent and foul, she can barely breathe.

It snaps it’s jaws at her face, teeth clacking a hair lengths away from her nose. The way it groans sends a jolt of fear down her spine. 

And then Mami is there. The knife embedded into its skull. With a sickening squelch, she pulls it out and it falls, twitching before going completely limp.

“Akemi-san?! Are you alright, were you bitten—“

Homura can barely hear her, let alone thank her. She can’t breathe—  _ she can’t breathe— _

She’s panicking, clutching her head in her hands, rocking back-and-forth. _‘_ _ Madoka _ _.’_ She desperately thinks in the thick of it all. Her throat closes, mouth dry. Cold sweat. She can’t breathe.

_ ‘ Hope. Hope. Hope. _ _’_ She repeats it like a nugatory mantra, over and over again in her mind until the word is foreign and unfamiliar. As if somehow, if she thinks it enough times, things will be fine. 

She is hopeful,  _ she lies.  _

She’ll be fine,  _ she lies.  _

She’ll see them again,  _ she hopes.  _

Her knees are shaking, adrenaline blocking any sort of clear semblance of thought. She manages to mumble out a ‘no’, to Mami’s question, before she warily pushes herself to her feet. 

Her eyes are shut tightly, and she takes a beat to recover, following the breathing exercises her late mother taught her. A familiar mask of indifference slipping into place. 

Mami’s gaze is piercing, examining her thoroughly before she backs away. 

“...Good, okay.... That’s... good. I found some candy bars,” she says, gaze still flickering, “Do you... have a preference?”

Homura chooses one blindly, thankful the blonde isn’t pushing the subject.

On their way out, she realizes the box of chocolate biscuits she chose, was Kyoko’s favorite.

* * *

Homura isn’t entirely sure how long its been. With her building up her anticipation, her hopefulness. Days? Weeks? Months? She wasn’t sure. The concept of time was almost impossible to decipher now.

But it only takes a few seconds to feel her hope crumble to dust. The sky seems to be falling— or maybe thats her. 

She lay, crumpled in the wreckage of her group’s deserted stationwagon. Madoka’s tattered ribbons gripped tightly in her palms. 

Her blonde friend is there, but Homura can’t find it in herself to care. 

“Madoka.” She rasps as Mami leads her towards a safer area. She’s unaware of the lingering ghouls already attracted to her loud cries of anguish. 

“Madoka.” She whispers again. She’s in far too much disbelief to eat. She’s only half-aware of Mami’s sympathetic gaze. She grips the red ribbon’s tighter. Fingernails painfully pressing into her palms, leaving half-crescent moons. 

“Madoka.” She utters once more. She sits in her makeshift bed. Her heavy eyes trained outside the window, towards the stars. She refuses to fall asleep, forcing herself to take a silent vigil. 

* * *

“Hope.” Mami tells her the next day. They’re sitting by a river, taking a break after biking for several hours.

“Hope.” Homura echoes her listlessly. Her lavender eyes are following debris cycle through the water. She wonders if she has any left. 

Mami nods, determined. “Hope, Akemi-san.” She grabs her hand, placing something in her palm. It’s crumpled and dirty, torn at the edges. A tiny, tiny thing. 

Homura lifts it to her face. 

It’s a picture. 

Sayaka, her ever so obnoxious smile, holding a peace sign behind Homura’s head, much to her dismay. Kyoko’s devilish smirk, pocky sticking out at an angle. Madoka’s soft grin, eyes crinkled at the force of her cherubic smile. Then her own. A funny thing— she had nothing to smile about before she met them. 

Before she met _her_. 

She looks back up to Mami, she’s smiling. Her finger taps the picture. “You look happy here, Akemi-san. They’re still alive. I can feel it. I did see footsteps leading this way.”

“Thats impossible.”

“No. I don’t believe so.” Mami hums, looking at the leaves fluttering into the river. “Did you see any bodies, Akemi-san? Humans can’t turn unless they’re bitten while they’re still live. If they died, we would’ve seen their bodies, no?”

Homura stares at their faces with such intense concentration for a long while. Mami wasn’t wrong. The dead stay dead, unless they were bitten while still alive. Everyone buried before this mess, stayed buried. Her friends... their belongings were gone as well, they could still...

Much to her dismay, she feels a surge of—

“Hope.” Homura repeats this time. Her gaze steeled, voice unwavering. 

The blonde smiles wider. And Homura averts her gaze. “Thank you, Tomoe-san. And... Homura is fine.”

“Then Mami is fine too, Homura-san.” She responds simply. 

“Very well.” Her lips twitch into a smile. She takes this time to tie Madoka’s ribbons into her hair, foregoing her headband.

_ ‘For safe-keeping’, _ she tells herself. She’ll have to return these, after all.

* * *

Mami tells her about Nagisa Momoe on their fourth day after spotting the wreckage.

The girl is far too smart, despite being a nine-year-old, Mami tells her. Homura nods. If the blonde says, then it must be so. Upperclassmen  _ were _ meant to be wiser and knowledgeable.

She’s shown another picture the next time they take a break. White-haired and vibrant eyes, the girl is the very picture of innocence. It’s tainted with dark maroon splattered on the photo.

Homura blinks. “We’ll find them.”

Mami nods, tucking the picture into her front pocket. “We will.”

* * *

Homura only hopes she’s going in the right direction. 

Hope is a fickle thing, she realizes. She keeps the photo close to her chest, just as a reminder. She has something to live for. 

They reach a fork in the road. One leads back towards the city they came from. The other heads into the forest. 

Homura pauses. The path to choose isn’t a hard decision to make, per se. Footsteps in the dirt lead towards the path on the right, straight back to the city. Five sets of shoes. One more than the group she was in. Whether they’re her friend’s shadows left behind remains to be seen.

However, the one that leads into the forest is the safer choice. Cities are crawling with the undead, only a fool would return. 

“It’s your call, Homura-san.” Mami offers.

She breathes in, and takes a chance.

She supposes only _fools_ hold hope now.

* * *

The road she chose double backs into the city. This time she waits on the outskirts. The sun is setting. Finding a suitable shelter is the top priority. They’ll begin their search tomorrow.

Those things always did get rowdier at night.

To their surprise, they spot a campfire in the distance, just by the edge of the treeline. After a brief debate, they decide to approach. If things go terribly, Homura has her pipe bombs, and Mami has her rifle.

It’s not until the breath is knocked out of her lungs does she realize what happens.

“Homura-chan!”

Her bike clatters to the ground.

And suddenly she’s crying again, surrounded by pink. She’s on the floor in a heap, the girl she loves a sobbing mess in her arms. Her heart-achingly, familiar, sweet voice stammering endearments.

Pink... so much pink.

_ ‘ Madoka, Madoka, Madoka...’ _

_ ‘I love you. _ _’_ She almost blurts out. But she’s feeling far too many emotions to coherently form a sentence.

There‘s another sob. Tears already staining her bloodied outfit. Madoka is gripping her shirt like lifeline. She pats her back, whispering softly. “I-I’m okay... I’m alive, Madoka.”

“I th-thought you d-died—“ Another sob, cracking and squeaking. “We waited for you, but you n-never came— s-so we decided to come back but..”

“M’sorry.” She mumbles. “I tried to lure them away from you, and meet up later...” She recalls the immense amount of undead surrounding them and trails off. She didn’t want to imagine the implications had she not done what she did. 

She doesn’t know what else to say. Silently, she lets her hands retie the red ribbons in her hair. Gently smiling as she notices Madoka’s hair is much longer now. Pigtails by themselves don’t quite suit her style anymore.

She’s vaguely aware of another person sitting by the campfire in her peripheral vision. A white haired and doe-eyed girl. Nagisa Momoe, she thinks. She finds it in herself to smile wider, Mami doting on the younger girl, her tears flowing like a river.

“...that again” 

“Mm?”

“I said,” Madoka lifts her head, voice no longer muffled. Homura returns her gaze. It’s defiant, almost daring Homura to rebut. “ _Don’t _ do that again.”

Homura, despite everything, lays her head on the concrete. The floor is cold, but the girl in her arms is oh-so warm. “Okay,” She says quietly. She knows she would in a heartbeat anyways. For Madoka. For any of them, really.

Homura gets up when her body starts complaining from the cold cement. Madoka is quick to help her up. The feeling of her aching bones is nothing compared to the warmth her friends brilliant grins gives her.

She finds she likes the feeling of Madoka pressed against her side. The group cooing over the little things Homura collected for them. 

Sayaka is quick to snicker. “Oawwhh! Did _transfer student_ miss us?” She says teasingly, her smile is contradicting, a clear indication of relief as she flips through the pages with vigor. “Oh damn, look at this one, Kyoko!”

“Eh? That’s lame!” The redhead grumbles “You just had ta’ have a _fetish_ about knights, huh? She snaps another pocky, “You need better hobbies.”

“I do not have a fetish! And what, is eating food your hobby?” 

“Duh? And if you waste food I’ll kill you before the zombies do.”

“Now, now, you two—“ Mami starts.

“Me too! Don’t waste cheese!” Nagisa butts in. Kyoko cackles before nudging her. “See? This lil’ nerd gets it!”

Nagisa defiantly puffs her cheeks out in response.

Madoka laughs with them, her grin is gentle and modest. Homura thinks it’s far too innocent to be allowed in the world as it is now. She plays with the material in her hands, the soft socks Homura bought in the trading camp weeks ago. She smiles at her, eyes crinkling, red lighting her cheeks. “Thank you, Homura-chan.”

Later, when they’re alone, Madoka presses a feather-light kiss to her lips, stammering something about now having warm feet and whatnot, before she runs off into her tent. Sayaka finds her minutes later with her fingers still brushing her lips, a dreamy expression with a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. The girl gives her a sly grin and a teasing poke in the side. She’s quickly waved off to bed as Sayaka takes the next watch, shit-eating grin ever present. 

She finds herself laying next to Madoka. Her eyes drifting over her peaceful expression. She brushes a stray hair out of her face. Just a week ago, she was ready to give up— to just stop trying, to give into her despair.

_ ’ Hope, _ _’_ Homura wonders again. 

Bleary pink eyes curiously peer at her, and Homura catches herself staring at them. Fondness building in her chest like a dam waiting to burst.

She thinks that maybe... it might be on to something. 

**Author's Note:**

> My rekindled love for PMMM literally came out of nowhere and hit me like a fuckin’ truck.
> 
> This was originally suppose to be a 1000 words or so, idk what happened.
> 
> I need to work on dialogue more, though.


End file.
